Pay For It
by Apotatosack
Summary: America did something uncalled for, and Russia would be making sure he would pay for it. Now, what exactly would you do if your life was ruined from then on? Violence... No, not really actually.
1. An Introduction

Dear readers, this story came from an idea I got when I was just lying in bed and it hit like a Italy-in-a-Ferrari. I look forward to Mindfucking you guys, hopefully, at the ending. This chapter is just like an introduction, but it took me so long to write it... Hope you like it. Thank you!

Warning: Inaccuracies (D-freaking-uh), character death (who cares? But just for the record…), language (I cut down on it here… If you guys don't mind, I can make it more natural, meaning more swears.)

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><p>It was peaceful, being alone in his house. Russia leant back into his sofa and snuggled against the warmth of his scarf. He smiled childishly and contentedly, admiring the fire dancing up and down in the fireplace.<p>

"Close to the merry devils in my head," Russia thought, giggling and lightly touching the thick wool with his hands. You could say, he was kind of happy. Well, at least in a better mood than usual.

He was just thinking… How nice would it be if he and his sisters were out in a field? A field of sunflowers, swaying back and forth in the gentle breeze. Belarus, for once, calm and smiling. Ukraine, cheerfully laying out the food they had brought out for the picnic together. The sun was out, and they laughed at a little joke that he had told them. Then…

His cell phone vibrated on the table beside him. He broke out of his reverie and glowered at it. How dare it ring when he was enjoying his daydream? Annoying little gadget…

His little sister's picture flashed on the screen, indicating it was obviously her who was calling. He cringed a little on the inside. How many times had she called him this week? And it only was what? Tuesday? Then he reluctantly picked it up and answered.

"Da?" He said into the phone wearily, expecting her sister on the other line to say, "Marry me," or something to that effect.

"Big brother! Something has happened to Ukraine-" The line crackled, and Russia frowned as all he could make up was "brother", "here", "something", and "come". Then suddenly Belarus shrieked like a banshee and the sound of a phone hitting the ground with a "chink" could be heard.

"Belarus?" Russia jumped out of his seat and shouted into the phone as the voice died out, and all that was left was static, and some kind of constant muffled beeping. Ukraine was in danger. He certainly got that and he ran like never before.

Before he even got to Ukraine, he could see large plumes of smoke twirling out into the sky, adding on to the clouds and overcast. Distant screams and shouts could be heard, and sometimes the wailing of a small child. He swore and ran towards the city center, deciding that if Ukraine was in that mess, she was probably in the center of the mess.

The smoke and dust was a constant irritant to his eyes and throat. Tears started falling, partly because of the worry felt and the dryness in the air. A few times, some surviving citizens of Ukraine had tried to push Russia away from the main point of destruction, but he ignored them, pushing past the humans making their way out of the city. How did they survive something this serious was a real puzzle, but there was one thing in his mind, and one thing only, 'Get to Ukraine, before it's too late.'

The towers of fire and smoke made the city look like hell, or what Russia thought was hell enough. Turning a corner, he saw his sister, lying face down on her side, motionless. He skidded to a stop, widening his violet eyes and trying to catch his breath as tears streamed down his ashen face. His heart was thudding in protest. Running for that long and stopping as suddenly was harmful to health. Well, it didn't matter when his sister was… was…

He stepped closer to her, boots trudging into the ashes and making little bits of fiery wood jump up. Tears blurred his vision as he gazed on her body. Sobbing quietly, Russia kneeled down beside her, and gently flipped her over, the right way up.

Ukraine looked asleep. She didn't look like she was in pain, or any type of suffering. She just looked like a pretty doll. A very pretty doll… that didn't breathe. Russia clutched her hands that were beginning to become cold, and said a silent prayer. His sister brought him up, took care of him and Belarus, acted like a mother, loved him, and gave him the scarf that he so loved, and now… She was… Dead. More tears fell as he thought of the memories they had together. It had been a long time since they talked, and he regretted that. He wished he knew her better.

As the buildings around him slowly crumbled, bit by bit, he wept. The total realization had hit him like a train, and he could feel more of his heart being chipped out.

"I'll miss you… Ukraine," he whispered, and folded her hands over her chest.

He stood up, trembling a little, and then realized something, that Belarus wasn't there.

Blinking away the last of his tears, he feared the worse as he surveyed the area around him. The worst being that his little sister had been here when what he thought was a bomb, went off.

Could she be…? His breathe caught in his throat, and he turned towards the direction of country of Belarus.

"Oh god, please not her…" Russia whispered. Once again, he started running. North, upwards, racing against time. It was a good thing he was a country, travelling was a simple feat.

God must be enjoying this. Had he not suffered enough? Throughout the ages… it was him who had been tortured the most, the most harmed, the most damaged. Where the heck was the fairness? The border… he could just see the border…

It blew. The earth shook as it blew up the entire city. The best part was, he was there to witness the glory of it all. The sky turned a ghastly color of red and then grey, as the dust and ash flew into the atmosphere. Screams were heard, and then all was silent. Looks like he had missed out on this part while in Ukraine, he smiled wryly as the first tear he would shed while in Belarus flowed down his cheek. He put his hand over his heart to stop it from falling to the ground. It thudded painfully in his chest. God truly was enjoying this.

Belarus had just staggered her way into the city center. She being smaller than her sister, burned at the agony and heat of the tragedy. The smoke wasn't helping at all.

"Brother…" She called out weakly. Looks like she wasn't as lucky as her sister. The bomb wasn't dropped in Kiev, but outside of it. It was close enough to cause that much damage… For her, it was dropped directly in her capital. It was a strange eerie silence. No longer were there sounds of the bustling city, but just the crackling of the flames. Everyone was vaporized, or at the least charred to a crispy bit. The smell of human fat sizzling on some surfaces was making her sick. Sick to the core.

She wept at this point, and clutched a wall with her gloved hands. The walls were warm, close to hot, but she needed support even to stand. This was probably the end of her. Right here, right now. Belarus stopped trying to walk, and slid to the ground with her back against the wall.

"Brother… I wish I could see you for the last time…" And she coughed as ash got to the back of her throat.

Russia sprinted through the streets. The air smelt like a barbecue gone wrong. The civilians here weren't spared like they were in Ukraine, he deduced. Spared, if you could call it that. He breathed through his scarf that was already clogged with dust.

"Someone declaring war would never spare the civilians unless they were an idiot." Obviously, then he blinked the tears out of his eyes again and focused on the roads leading to the city center, once again.

He could feel the heat through his boots, the ground sometimes sizzling at spots where he trampled on. Still running, nonetheless, but he didn't want to see his younger sister… not alive.

There… he saw an end of a purple dress. He almost cried in joy.

"Belarus!" Russia shouted and wheezed. Toxic gases being oxidized and circulated around his body. The dress twitched a little and a weak moan came out from behind the wall that was blocking the wearer. Russia hitched his breath. She was still alive, still a chance to safe her, a chance for him to have at least one sister left.

Russia kneeled down, the second time in a day, and looked in Belarus's eyes. Strange, they look different. They look resigned to death, and they looked fearful of what was going to happen. Belarus never before looked like that. Never in her entire life. The worse look that Russia saw.

"You're… still alive," Russia said as he scooped Belarus up in his arms. It was weird. Two of his sisters were… dying. At about the same time. Almost like Ukraine was a rehearsal and Belarus was the performance. He knew how to react, he just… couldn't. Couldn't accept it, couldn't take it in. Maybe he was numb already; maybe he was sick of it all. That was one thing he had never experienced before. Probably because that was the last thing that would ever come to his mind.

The thought of Ukraine and Belarus dying. That was torture.

"Belarus… h-hold on…" Russia said as more tears came to his eyes. He couldn't see her clearly, damn it. What made him think that saying goodbye would make it all better?

Belarus looked at him dully. The life was slowly seeping out of her eyes. Then she mustered a smile.

"No matter how much you love me… Brother, you'll never be able to rebuild this place to what it was before… Not at the moment," Belarus whispered, her breathing ragged. "Not fast enough… to-to safe me."

Then she went limp in his arms. Her eyelids drooped down, making her look like she was sleepy. Her heart stopped thudding, and it seemed like there was no more movement evermore. He slid her hands over her eyes to close them.

'At least she's still smiling," Russia thought.

Russia's tears dripped down onto Belarus's apron. Ukraine and Belarus. Both dead and never coming back. Perhaps there would be, some day in the future when they finally manage to restore their capitals and some other cities. After all, it wasn't like the entire country was blown to bits. Perhaps someday, they would be back. Someday.

God knows how long had passed. The fire was deadening, smoke had mostly cleared. Post-mortem had already set in Belarus, and Russia tenderly laid her back onto the ground, folding her hands over her chest, much like he did with Ukraine. He thought they looked more peaceful that way. Like angels.

Russia's eyes were red and sore, and his lips and throat were parched. His sisters were really gone. And it was his entire fault. At least that's what he thought. He blamed it on himself. He thought about it while sitting beside his sister's body. He wasn't there to protect them. He wasn't ready for this. He had brought it on them. They didn't have any enemies. Who would waste so many explosives to just 'do it for fun'? Even he wasn't insane enough to blow things up for 'fun'.

Obviously someone was out to get him. Someone who disliked him quite a bit. He wiped away tears that had yet to dry off or drip.

Now, if he could just find out what kind of bombs these were… He had a clear idea of what kind of bombs these were. Nuclear. And the only person who hated him, and furthermore had excess to these sorts of warfare… Russia got up calmly and brushed his coat off, rearranging his scarf so that it sat comfortably on his neck and shoulders.

The only person was… America. And guess what? That bitch was going to pay.

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><p>Yes, America is an asshole; therefore he blew up Russia's sisters. Like I said, this is still an introduction, so not much is revealed. I would appreciate all your reviews a lot, so please do review! Thank you for reading it! Bye!<p> 


	2. Truth Be Told

HI! This is where the torture begins…

"You want to play?" Russia smirked.

His gloved hands expertly spun the cylinder quickly and snapped it into place. Russia placed the muzzle of the revolver on his temple. Click. Save.

He smiled childishly, placing the gun onto the cold, metal table and pushed it towards the country sitting on the other side.

America picked it up, once again pushing the cylinder out, and spinning it. The golden glint of the single round winked under the single, dim light bulb. It was a cold night. He shivered in his seat, and he readied the gun. Click. Thank god.

He closed his eyes, and slid the gun back to Russia.

"You were lucky." Russia repeated the process in rapid succession, nonchalantly snatching the trigger under his jaw. "But… I always win." Russia was barking mad. But he wasn't one to lie when playing games. Not one he used to play for the cheap thrills. But, he was always the one to clean up after that. Every single time.

America closed his eyes, breathing through his mouth. Since when was he that stupid to agree playing such a game with Russia? Especially Russia. Click.

How long did they go on for? 20, 30 rounds? Either way, America was getting a little shaky. Was the room getting wavier or… Yes, Russia's smile was getting creepier and creepier.

Nations can't really die, but they feel pain, even more so than average humans. They just get to live, and heal much faster. But, America could tell you that when that bullet was fired, it burned like a bitch. Bells were ringing in his ears, the loud, fire alarm types. It seemed like someone was stabbing the back of his eyes, probably because the bullet cut through his optical nerves, then a burst of colors and finally darkness.

Looks like Russia was right about always winning.

He was rudely awakened by a metal pipe smashing into his head. Or rather, painfully. America screamed, gasping. It was winter, cold and dark, and he was barely even clothed in this dank basement. Being chained by his hands to the ceiling above meant he wasn't able to sit. He couldn't stand either; torture and starvation does not help you much. So, basically he was just kneeling on his legs which have long gone to sleep.

That throbbing pain sure reminded him of a past misadventure. He was barely able to see in the dark, much less without his glasses. But what was there to see? Not like anything would help at all.

The metal pipe went down again, this time hitting the side of America's head. It was that close to jabbing into his left eye, and now the skin had split above his eye, blood flowing into it.

He screamed again, left eye swiveling wildly in its socket as the blood coated it, giving a whole new light to the term, red-eye. He bit his already split bottom lip, once again reopening the little cracks, and let out a muffled scream again as the blood from his head continued to throb with every single heartbeat he had.

Left eye still swiveling in its socket, he keeled over in pain, trying to stop the sharp jabbing behind his eyes. He hoped he still could see with that eye. One eye just wasn't cool at all. Neither is your retina snapping.

He got kneed in his jaw, nearly biting the tip of his tongue off, and his teeth snapped together painfully. Tears came to his eyes somehow, and he wondered when he was going to stop crying altogether. They were going to dry up soon, right?

Either way, they leaked into the scratches on his face, made when he was slammed against the brick floors and other various rough surfaces.

He made a list about what was hurting at present. His head, jaw, teeth, ears, eyes, skin, back, lips, tongue, teeth, not to mention the fact that he was that close to getting frostbite. The list goes on and on. How was he even able to form coherent thoughts?

Russia grabbed America's hair in his gloved hands. "Admit it." He gritted out.

America winced, squinting at Russia through a red film and those white flashing things that were going off in his other eye.

Russia grinned, and tightened his grip on the blood-matted hair. More excuse to hurt that asshole.

"Admit it." Russia repeated, firing a bullet into America's kneecap. Don't worry, it'll heal. Hopefully.

America screamed, thrashing around in the restrains, whimpering as his voice went hoarse.

Russia stopped smiling, aiming to another point on America's body. Bam, the bullet went through the shoulder. "Admit it."

America screamed until he was hoarse. He was feeling rather light-headed. Perhaps he would just faint… Yes, that was a good idea.

Well, Russia was no idiot. He frowned, and stuck a finger into the gun-wound, pressing into it like an elevator button. Once again, America screamed. It was boring already… Do something else, my play thing! Russia curled his finger inwards, digging out some tissue and flesh from the wound. Oops, he just pushed the bullet deeper in. Not like he cared. "Admit it."

America moaned, breathing heavily and sweating, even in such extreme temperature. His world was hazy around the corners…

"I didn't do anything…" He whispered before passing out. At least Russia though he had passed out. Dying or passing out didn't matter. America would always wake up as long as he was left alone to heal a little. Besides, a little pussy torture would not really affect such a "great superpower", now would it? Russia tapped his chin thoughtfully, unknowingly smearing a little blood over his scarf.

"He fainted… That was too bad. That wasn't even serious torture!" Russia laughed as he picked his trusty pipe up with one hand, and adjusting his scarf with his other. Blood on his scarf… noticing it. Makes for a good souvenir, shrugging it off. America would have died over and over if not for the other countries stopping him.

Then, he glanced back at the bloodied America, and walked out of the door. It was rather chilly down there.

Ok, it may seem confusing, but I'll try to put it all together at the next chapter… I just had the urge to write this. Thanks for reading and reviewing! If you did review… Bye! :D


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